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Handmade sandesh still carries a charm that no factory-made sweet can match. Behind that charm lies a tiny space on Rabindra Sarani, close to Nutan Bazar, where artisans carve teakwood moulds that give Bengali mishti its familiar floral patterns, fish motifs and festive messages. For decades, these wooden moulds have shaped the identity of Kolkata’s sweets, yet the people who make them are fighting to keep their craft alive.
Step into one of these modest shops and you find carvers like Ujjal Das of Ujjal Art House bent over long planks of segun wood, shaping them into sandesh moulds. He learnt the work from his father and grandfather. Today, the demand has thinned, so the moulds are made only when orders come in. The rest of the year, he and others carve stools, piris, chopping boards and trays to keep their shops running. “The business has not died out yet, but it is no longer our main source of income,” said Ujjal. He even takes special requests from art colleges for statues and figurines.
At Sakti Art Co., owner Narayan Chandra Das said they carve moulds of all sizes for as little as Rs 100 or 150, but many customers bargain without understanding the labour behind each piece. Each one is hand-carved in reverse so that the sandesh emerges with a perfect imprint.
The work is slow, intricate and often overlooked, but it still holds a powerful legacy. Many iconic sweet shops continue to prefer wooden moulds because they give sandesh its sharp detailing. While stone and clay moulds have disappeared, and metal ones have become common, wooden chaach still carry the old-world Bengali aesthetic that sweet-makers refuse to let go.
A fine mould can last a lifetime if maintained well, which is one reason the craft does not see a constant flow of buyers. Yet the patterns tell a story of Bengal’s cultural memory: roses and dahlias resembling alpana art, fish for good luck, custard apple textures, and even biscuit shapes. For weddings, large butterflies or fish-shaped moulds remain favourites.
The carvers know the future is uncertain. Few families want to continue the profession and even fewer shops require new moulds every year. But, as long as Kolkata’s sweet makers insist on shaping sandesh by hand, these small workshops on Rabindra Sarani will continue to chip away, keeping a centuries-old craft alive.
Artisans like Ujjal Das conclude, “Joto din haate mishti toiri hobe, kather chaach toiri hobe. (As long as sweets are hand-crafted, wooden moulds will be made.”
And in a city like Kolkata, handmade sandesh will always hold a special place in the hearts of the true mishti connoisseurs.
